


Mullet Thirst 2: Boat Edition

by Cheeziswin



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fantasizing, Hair Kink, I'm sorry I couldn't resist that title, M/M, Mullet Grunkle Stan, Sea Grunks, Sexual Fantasy, Stan O' War II, basically Ford does Stan's hair and is also a total pervert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeziswin/pseuds/Cheeziswin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan's hair has grown to unruly lengths while out at sea, and Stanford is excited to help him with this problem. Maybe a little too excited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mullet Thirst 2: Boat Edition

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked me on Tumblr, "Thoughts on stan getting his mullet all styled up by ford?"
> 
> And I... hoo, boy. I accidentally this whole fic. I accidentally a lot of things.

Ford looked up from his book when he heard his brother hiss in annoyance. Stan was cursing under his breath, fiddling with his hair agitatedly, throwing it back over his shoulder and out of his face. It proved fruitless, as the wind only blew it right back into his eyes seconds later, which made him even more frustrated. He struggled with it for only a moment longer, before his will died out, and he admitted defeat as he succumbed to his fate of a strand of hair stabbing him in the eye every once in awhile.

Ford shook his head at his brothers pouty but resigned face, smiling at his antics. Then an idea struck and he quickly shoved the bookmark into his place, nearly missing the page in his haste. He got up to open the cabinet, swinging it open a bit too roughly. He pulled a comb and a band from it, then pulled a stool to the middle of the cabin.

“Stanley.” Ford called, capturing his attention. Stan looked over at him, face scrunching up when Ford held up the comb and patted the seat.

“I don’t remember setting up a hair appointment.” Stan joked dismissively, turning back to the fishing pole.

“It’ll only take a moment.” Ford assured, voice hopeful. Stan turned back to him again, eying him carefully. Ford only smiled and wiggled the comb in the air. Stan gave the pole one last glance before sighing and setting it down. Ford got a victorious smile that he hoped wasn’t _too_ candidly elated.

“I’m not a kid anymore, you know.” Stan grumbled as he settled onto the stool, making Ford’s smile only grow as he hummed a distracted acknowledgement. He gently took Stan’s hair into his hands the moment he’d sat down, lifting the comb and starting at his ends. Unsurprisingly, Ford had to brush his way through quite a few tangles that had been dreadfully woven by the wind. Thankfully Ford was patient, and they settled into a comfortable silence as Ford worked all the knots from his brothers hair, Stan only giving minor fusses when Ford pulled a bit too hard. After a while, he could run the comb through the light grey strands with ease. He took a deep breath as he contemplated his next move.

He hadn’t always been this oddly drawn to Stanley’s hair. It wasn’t until a couple of months ago that he realized how much he loved it. Stan had almost always hidden it under a hat - even if it wasn’t particularly cold out, he’d keep the beanie firmly rested on his head. Maybe that was why it’d always make him stare when Stan pulled the hat off. It started off as just a minor attraction to it, something a bit different that pulled his attention. Stan’s hat was off and it was uncharacteristic enough that Ford noticed it. But it quickly escalated into an obsession. Stan had run his fingers through it once - from the front of his scalp to the ends - and Ford had been _gone_. There was something so unbearably sexy about that simple act that had Ford having to cross his legs.

That day, he’d desperately wished that was _his_ hand.

And many days after that.

Now he had a chance _for_ it to be.

Hesitantly, slowly, he ran the comb through Stan’s hair once more - but this time, he let his fingers gently trail behind it, feeling the thin strands run through his shaky fingers. He did this a few times more before he ditched the comb entirely, opting instead for running 12 nervous fingers through.

“Your hair grows unnaturally fast.” Ford muses, marvelling at how it felt in his hands. _It was also unnaturally soft,_ he mused inwardly, not daring to say that thought aloud. Would it be too cheesy to say it felt like silk? Probably. But that didn’t stop him from thinking it.

“Tell me about it.” Stan chuckled, though there was little humor to it. Ford continued his ministrations, brushing his fingers through Stan’s hair for a moment longer, and Stan didn’t seem to mind the contact. “Need to get it cut next time we dock, should'a never let it get this long.”

Ford hummed at the statement, mulling it over for a moment. He got an urge he couldn’t resist, and he bit his lip as he tugged minisculely on the hair. Not enough to hurt, but enough to satisfy him. Regrettably, only barely enough. “I like it this long.”

Ford could see Stan’s eyebrows raise as he turned his head slightly. “Do you now?”

Ford nodded once, and only paused a second before letting his fingers sprawl over Stan’s scalp under his hair. “… It suits you.”

Stan doesn’t respond after that. Whether because he has nothing to say or is unsure what to say about it, Ford’s not certain, and at the moment he can’t bring himself to really care. All he cares about is the fact that his hands are in his twin’s hair and and Stan isn’t asking him to stop. He’s going to savor it as long as he can. He’s like a child with a barbie doll, running his fingers through the hair, almost in a trance with the way it feels.

Then he’s broken right out of that kiddish trance when his fingers ghost over the hairs on the back of Stan’s neck, and his brother shivers at the touch, letting out a shuddering gasp. Ford’s breath hitched when he felt Stan tremble under his fingers, sending an unexpected jolt of pleasure through him.

Then the thoughts came pouring in. Rapid fire, unbidden, and completely unwelcome.

And _increasingly_ obscene.

Twisting his hands in it as Stan thrusts into him, moaning into his mouth as his fingers curl in a way he knows is painful, but he doesn’t care because he feels _ethereal_ and his a death grip on Stan’s silvery locks is the only thing keeping him from plummeting off the edge of sanity.

Running his hands through it lovingly as Stan looks up at him through his eyelashes, looking somehow both unsullied and lascivious at the same time as he takes the tip of Ford’s cock into his mouth. Ford’s grip slowly tightening as Stan works more and more of him into his mouth, until his head is brushing the back of his throat. Stan groaning around him as Ford’s hand steadies forcibly, holds him there as he face fucks him, knowing for all the world that Stan is loving it, if the muffled, wanton whimpers were any indication.

Taking a fist full of it and using it to shove Stan’s face into the bed, pounding into him without mercy, bed springs audibly protesting from the force of Ford’s thrusts. Stanley screaming; his name, pleas, prayers, all of them tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably. His hands scrabbling to cling to the sheets, the headboard, Ford’s hand in his hair, anything he can get a hold on. Using that same fistful of hair to yank Stan upwards by the skull, knowing he probably pulled some of it out, but that only spurs him on, seeing the way Stan’s neck bends backwards and his cries grow louder, even more desperate, Ford pulling his hair as far backwards as he dared, Stanley looking like he’s on the verge of snapping in half with how Ford has him bent and practically begging Ford to _pull harder._

He imagined them lying beside each other in the dark of the room, exhausted and sated. In Stanley’s case, sore. He imagined threading his fingers through Stan’s hair, untangling all the tangles he’d put there himself. Stan lazily smiling as he did so, slowly falling to sleep at the sensation of Ford’s fingertips on his scalp, and Ford not far behind him.

“You alright there, bro?”

Ford snapped from his fantasies with a jump. He blinked, for the first time realising how heated his face had grown and how sweaty his hands had gotten. He gulped when he felt a familiar tightness in his pants, and he shuffled on the floor as he gave a very weak “Mhm.”, fearing that if he spoke his voice would give way too much away. He’d let his mind wander _much_ too far into the gutter. He shouldn’t have gotten himself into this mess.

Eager to get this over with and get himself under control, he snapped the ponytail into Stan’s hair as fast as he could manage. The resulting pony was messy, but Stan didn’t seem to care much as he brought a hand up to feel it, toothy smile on his face now that his hair was in check. Ford had to take a deep breath at the sight of his brothers smile. A breath that he cursed himself for having to take. He’d been mentally reduced to a horny prepubescent boy, just from playing with his brothers hair. He’s nearly 70 years old. He shouldn’t be having those thoughts in the first place, let alone about his equally as old _brother._

All of a sudden, Stan’s hand is in his hair and his whole mind comes to a crashing halt once again. Stan runs his nails gently across Ford’s scalp, and though it was a gesture that only took a second, Ford felt like it went on for minutes. Ford knows he’s shaking and blushing out of control as Stan pulls his hand away and gives him a warm smile. “Thanks, Sixer.”

Ford excuses himself to the bedroom after that, claiming seasickness. But if anything was sick out on this ocean, it was Ford’s own _mind._


End file.
